


Benediction

by jennerallyspeaking



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Peter Quill, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Infinity Gauntlet, Infinity War, Major Character Injury, Minor Gamora/Peter Quill, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Quill Feels, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Slow Build, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Torture, Whump, infinity war got me fucked up, not entirely infinity war compliant, tony is a dad!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 00:07:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14738354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennerallyspeaking/pseuds/jennerallyspeaking
Summary: Peter thinks it started when Tony was stabbed.  He had watched him try to conceal the makeshift blade before using it against Thanos, but then everything was moving faster than it had been before and Tony was stumbling backward, eyes wide in disbelief.The seconds after that moment had come in waves.  Thanos’ voice, sounding terribly far away.  The Titan’s hand on Tony’s bowed head.  Scarlet running thickly from Tony’s lips and the hole in his side.  The dullthwackof Mantis’ form against the earth as she lept towards the scene, only to be knocked aside.  Quill’s inflamed roar above the increasing hum in Peter’s ears.  And then, strangest of all, the drum of Peter’s own footsteps through the dirt as he ran for  Tony, calling out his name again and again.This is it.-Post Infinity War with some minor changes to the plot-





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm back after being dead for a year!
> 
> This chapter has three different perspectives: Peter, Quill, and Tony. It serves as a sort of introduction to the rest of the story, and I wrote it in about 0.034 minutes, so let me know if anything seems off. I'm so excited to expand this story:)
> 
> Please leave comments!! It warms my heart to see your thoughts and reactions.

The events of the last few hours cycle choppily through Peter’s head like a bad movie. He can’t remember how the fight started nor can he craft a coherent picture of it, only where he had ended up when everything came crashing down. There had been blood, he remembered, and a lot of it. Blood, and yelling, and then the darkness.  
  
And now this.  
  
Peter’s breaths come in shuddering heaves that he’s at a loss to control. He’s shackled loosely to a bar that rests only a few tantalizing inches from his outstretched fingers, blinking hard in the filmy light. He can’t make any sense of his whereabouts, and the walls around him seem to extend for miles without interruption. He groans raggedly as he tries again to wrench his arms from their chains, but nothing budges. His headache is one to crown all headaches.  
  
Peter screams, his throat raw from the strain of hours of wailing into the blackness. He allows his head to sag on his shoulders, allows the tears to begin to fall once more.  
  
_I can’t do shit without the suit._  
  
He wonders what Tony would say if he saw him now, hanging limply from rusted chains with a crust of damp blood encircling each wrist, smears of crimson on his temple and the smell of sweat and ash emanating off of him in a fog. He wonders what Tony would say, and then it all comes rushing back.  
  
_Fuck._  
  
Peter thinks it started when Tony was stabbed. He had watched him try to conceal the makeshift blade before using it against Thanos, but then everything was moving faster than it had been before and Tony was stumbling backward, eyes wide in disbelief.  
  
The seconds after that moment had come in waves. Thanos’ voice, sounding terribly far away. The Titan’s hand on Tony’s bowed head. Scarlet running thickly from Tony’s lips and the hole in his side, choking out his soft groan as the titan lifted his limp body into the air. The dull _thwack_ of Mantis’ form against the earth as she lept towards the scene, only to be knocked aside. Quill’s inflamed roar above the increasing hum in Peter’s ears. And then, strangest of all, the drum of Peter’s own footsteps through the dirt as he ran for Tony, calling out his name again and again.  
  
The blow to his temple after that had sent stars hurtling through his vision, the cartoon kind he had laughed at as a kid. Through bursts of consciousness he failed to grab ahold of for very long, Peter could recall a ship. Quill was with him and maybe the wizard, too, but Peter had little clue where either of them had ended up. They had been yelling, eyes shining with fervor and fear.  
  
The sudden and startling relapse into the memories cause Peter’s body to writhe on its own accord against the bonds. The only comfort he finds is in the spotty pitch of his squeezed eyelids, but even there can he see flashes of Tony’s ragdoll body in Thanos’ grip. Peter doesn’t even know if he’s still alive.  
  
_Tony Stark could be dead. He could be dead right now and you didn’t even get to say goodbye, you didn’t even try to help him, you just stood there like a coward, feeling sick, feeling--_  
  
Peter’s eyes roll back and he goes slack in the chains.  
  
********************************************************  
  
The only thing Peter Quill is able to register as he wrenches himself awake is that _everything fucking hurts._ He sits up very suddenly and examines his body, which as it turns out is remarkably injury-free. But he aches all over with the kind of dull excruciation that accompanies a fever, and the only solution seems to be to lay back down and try to go to sleep.  
  
And that’s when he remembers. _Gamora._  
  
An even harsher pain constricts Quill’s chest, tightens his shoulders, sends pinpricks of agony from his skull to intestines in sickening waves. His hand itches with the phantom pressure of the trigger he was prepared to pull on her, and he’s disgusted by how little he fought in the moment Thanos whisked her away. And although he feels guilty for it, he's furious at Gamora herself for _not going right._ He wishes he had told her that he loved her a thousand years earlier.  
  
Quill jerks upright again and stumbles from the bed, gazing wildly at the room around him. It's small and clean, sparsely furnished with a broad, windowless door directly to the left of where Quill stands shaking. He tries the knob and growls his displeasure when it fails to turn.  
  
“Hey! Hey, where the hell am I? Hello?” He bangs on the door, wishing frustratedly for his gun or any other tool that could blast clean through the walls. There's no response. “Bastards!”  
  
It's hard to gauge anything about his captors from his surroundings, but the comfort is incessantly unnerving. Was the kid being housed this well? And the doctor--and Stark?  
  
Thanos had been forced to gag Quill after his screams had gotten on the Titan’s nerves. He had sat utterly still in the dark belly of the enemy ship, feeling nothing until a slight pressure appeared against his thigh. The feeling was warm and definitely alive, and after further investigation Quill’s tremoring hands identified the pressure as the lolling head of the kid from earlier, the one who had rushed for Stark after he was stabbed. Quill wondered if the boy was Stark’s son, and he felt a pang of longing for Yondu in the darkness. The kid was unconscious, probably from the merciless blow Thanos had delivered to his skull only a few minutes earlier, and in a sudden rush of sympathy Quill reached to haul him into his lap. The older man had run his hands through the boy’s clammy hair until the ship landed and they were wrenched in seperate directions. Quill didn’t think he had woken up.  
  
********************************************************  
  
Tony blinks awake and immediately retches over the side of his cot, feeling disgusted by the sight and coppery smell of his bile on the floor. His surroundings come into focus as he wrestles the tangle of sweaty blankets from his heaving form, and recognition sends another roll of nausea that hits harder than the first. In a second, he’s on the floor. _Fuck._  
  
He can’t focus on anything, not the horrible browning splatters of his own blood on the cement nor the searing heat in his side. The ground in front of Tony is swimming and he falls over himself trying to crawl away from the visions filling his mind, but the grisly snap of his ankle against a taught chain stops him fast.  
  
_Relax, Stark. You know this place._  
  
It’s Afghanistan all over again. Well, it isn’t, really; his accommodations are considerably more comfortable here than they were in the cave and he’s not being actively tortured, but the terror that seizes him as he scrabbles for the base of the chain is a feeling Tony knows all too well.  
  
_Breathe. Think._  
  
The clamp around Tony’s ankle appears to be unenforced by any kind of magic, and in a different state he might be able to work at it, but he’s weakened by blood loss and wearing very little that could be of help. He’s able to shrug off the pain from the wound in his abdomen--smothering agony is a talent he’s built up for years--yet the crashing in his head refuses to settle. He hopes Peter got away after he was stabbed, but it’s impossible to imagine the kid doing anything but giving his all to knock Thanos to the ground.  
  
Have to get out of here.  
  
There’s a door on the far side of the room but Tony’s chains prevent him from coming within even a yard of its handle. Physically, he can’t do a thing and this infuriates him, as does his mind’s failure to continue the illusion of normality in his torso. He hasn’t dared to look at the wound.  
  
To his surprise, Tony hears footsteps echoing sharply down the hall outside of his room. He straightens his back, folding his legs in front of him, and allows his face to go lax in a state of bliss. _This_ , he thinks, _this is likely to drive them mad. Put on a show._  
  
_Pretend you’re good at it._  
  
The door slams open.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanos is looking for something, and he knows just how to find it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Chapter 2 is here. I'm amazed by all of the hits so far, and I hope everyone who's read Chapter 1 will enjoy this installment even more. Please leave comments for me to see! They always make my day.
> 
> Hope you enjoy. 
> 
> xo,  
> J:)

Tony stifles his sigh of relief when the figure on the other side of the door reveals itself to be a less intimidating presence than Thanos.  
  
“Hello,” he says, hoping that his smile is convincing enough to portray an image of contentment. He gives the visitor the attention of only one lazily opened eye, but his nonchalance fails to give him any ground.  
  
“Tony Stark,” the creature purrs. “I assume you know why you’re joining us today.”  
  
_Blow it off._  
  
“Can’t say that I do,” Tony responds quick as ever, but the lie burns a hole through his tongue. He’s hiding his fear behind a curtain that’s thinner than usual. “House party, maybe? Thanos’ anniversary or something?”  
  
“Your wit won’t get you far in here, human.”  
  
“I’m not looking to go anywhere.” Tony unfolds his legs and gestures helplessly to the shackle around his ankle, raising his arms as if to say _what can I do_? “But while we’re on the subject, where is here?” He has to stall, has to tease out some information from this creature before it gets anything from him.  
  
“You’re on an interplanetary base approximately 372,000 miles away from Earth . One of Thanos’ best kept secrets in the universe.”  
  
“Surely it can’t be a very good secret if you’re just spilling its whereabouts to every visitor you recieve.” The quip isn’t strong, and Tony disguises his annoyance with himself with a well-timed eyeroll. The creature growls and takes a menacing step forward. For the first time, Tony notices the blade at its (his?) side.  
  
“I do not have time for your pathetic attempts at banter, Stark. You know precisely why you’re here.”  
  
Tony’s mouth feels like it’s filling with cotton. He can feel the burning gaze of his visitor across his face, and his mask of feigned confusion is dangerously close to falling apart. “It’s clear you want something,” he starts slowly, mind racing to fill in the gaps, pry away from the topic, anything. “But I am very, very tired. The only thing I know is that I could use a drink. And after this,” he says, gesturing to his injured side, “I could probably also use some therapy. So unless I’m here for either some scotch or a trained psychologist, I’m all out of feedback.”  
  
For a moment, there’s nothing. No reaction from the creature in the doorway, and then a flicker of fury passes in a shadow across its face and he’s on the floor above Tony, one broad hand shoving him to the floor with pressure directed to the wound in his side, the other drawing a blade and pressing it against Tony’s pulsing neck. Tony inhales sharply through his nose, a clipped breath that sends the odor of blood and earth flowing quickly into his lungs. The fresh pain in his side is excruciating. His eyes screw shut as the blade presses harder into his neck and for a second he’s ready for it to sink into his flesh, _sorry Pete, sorry Rogers, sorry Pepper, I hope you know I love you but it looks like the sand in my hourglass has just about run out and-_  
  
“Where is it?” The creature’s fiery inquisition sends its spit splattering across Tony’s cheeks and the feeling fills him with disgust; this isn’t how he wants to die. He summons what little strength he has and delivers a flailing kick to the stomach of his assailant, but the act of rebellion serves only to inflict more pain upon himself. There’s a shocking pressure just to the right of his wound and then two pops, and Tony’s eyes snap back in agony as his weakened ribs pulverize in the creature’s hands.  
  
“I don’t know what you _want_.” He manages to hiss the denial out through fleeting gasps of air but the act is almost up and he knows it. He can’t talk himself out of this one, not this time.  
  
“Thanos demands the mind stone, and I am not naive enough to believe that you are unaware of its whereabouts. So I’ll give you another chance.” More pressure and a movement of the blade up to the underside of Tony’s chin. “Where is the stone?”  
  
“Thanos doesn’t..he doesn’t deserve to wield that kind of power. You aren’t getting a word out of me. When it comes to saving my life or my friends, I will choose my friends _every time_.”  
  
The creature pulls back. There’s an expression on its face that Tony struggles to identify; disappointment, perhaps? And then he rises and Tony can breathe again, coughing down a crazed chuckle and letting his gaze float to the ceiling.  
  
“Get up.”  
  
“Oh, God, what do you want now?”  
  
“Get up.” The creature unlocks Tony’s chain from its post but leaves it dangling from his ankle. The added weight makes standing even more agonizing for Tony.  
He leans against the cot in an effort to disguise his instability.  
  
_Put the mask back on, Stark._  
  
“You know, I don’t think we were properly introduced before you tried to kill me. I’m Tony. What do they call you when you’re not busy breaking people’s ribs?”  
  
“You will call me Dorado, human. And if I had wanted to kill you, you would be dead.”  
  
Tony’s eyes light up. “ _Dorado_? As in _El Dorado_? As in the 1966 John Wayne movie _El Dorado_?”  
  
“My namesake is the constellation-”  
  
“Oh, sure, cowboy.” The remark earns Tony a slap that sends a howl ringing through his left ear, but he pulls himself back together with a lopsided smile.  
  
“Stark, you boasted of your loyalty to your friends. Your failure to cooperate, however, will impact them far more than you anticipated.”  
  
Tony goes cold. “Empty threats aren’t going to convince me to give up any gem.”  
  
Dorado smiles wanly. “Let’s go for a walk.”  
  
********************************************************  
  
The walk takes a very long time to reach its destination, in part due to each of Tony’s footsteps igniting his body with new agony, and in part due to the winding nature of the hallways he and his captor venture through. Tony doesn’t see a single sign of other life on the base, but he knows that Dorado is far from alone.  
  
The pair stop in front of an unmarked door that sits inconspicuously at the end of a particularly long hallway. Dorado pulls a keycard from his waistband and dangles it in front of Tony.  
  
“What, you can’t open the door yourself?”  
  
“Watch your tongue, human. Losing it is not the farthest of your worries right now.”  
  
“I don’t like being handed things,” Tony mutters, but Dorado either fails to hear or chooses to ignore him.  
  
The door slides open without a sound. The room he’s greeted with is expansive, lit only by the thin ring of yellow that had seeped in from around the door. Dorado doesn’t move from the doorway, and Tony looks back uneasily.  
  
“Take a look around.”  
  
Tony obliges and shuffles in, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness before allowing himself to fall into whatever trap the base had inevitably set for him. Every step shifts his ruined ribs.  
  
It doesn’t take long to spot why Dorado had led him here. There’s a man shackled to the wall directly opposite of Tony, head hanging limply below the shoulders, clad in a torn undershirt and blue boxers. Tony can’t tell if he’s still alive.  
  
“Hey,” he calls softly, doing his best to walk a little faster. “Hey, can you hear me?” As he nears the man, icy recognition begins to bloom in his chest.  
  
“Dorado? What the hell is this?”  
  
And then Tony’s standing next to him. Peter.  
  
“Jesu- kid? Oh, fuck.” Tony lifts a trembling hand to cup the boy’s face. He doesn’t remember ever feeling this afraid. Peter is unconscious, and in the dusky light Tony can make out a bruise decorating his hairline and a cake of scarlet just below it. “Peter. Hey, kiddo. Talk to me.” His eyes refuse to believe the vision in front of him. The pain in his side is quickly being overwhelmed by rage.  
  
“What did you do to him?” Though he’s addressing Dorado Tony doesn’t look back. He’s shaking Peter gently, sweeping the boy’s sweaty hair from his eyes and taking note of every single scratch on his body. He’s going to make Thanos pay for even laying his gaze on the boy.  
  
“He’ll be put to good use, Tony. It’s clear you have little care for your own self-preservation, but Thanos is certain that you care deeply for this boy’s. This little display of dramatics is convincing me as well.”  
  
Peter is stirring now, eyes fluttering weakly behind semi-closed lids. Dorado’s voice is a harsh drone in Tony’s ears.  
  
“It's quite a simple tactic. If you fail to give us the information we desire, the boy will pay. In ways you _cannot_ imagine. And when you do give us the whereabouts of the final stone, I'm sure Thanos will still find a purpose for him. It's really just your choice of whether to delay his suffering or not."  
  
Tony wants nothing more than to wrap his hand around Dorado's neck and squeeze forever, but-  
  
"Mr. Stark?"  
  
The words nearly drive Tony to tears as he wraps his arms around Peter's limp body, ignoring the sharp pain of indignation from his torso. "It's really me, kiddo."  
  
"I thought you were dead," Peter chokes out, and now he's crying, fresh tears sending streaks of grime rolling down his face.  
  
"Me too, there, for a second."  
  
"Tony?" The boy's voice is a whimper, and it's clear he's not fully awake. "I want to go home."  
  
Tony's throat closes in anger. "And I'm gonna get you home, okay?"  
  
"You just have to hold on for a while."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :))
> 
> ALSO not sure why the notes from chapter one are showing up below. can y'all see them? ugh.

**Author's Note:**

> I promise things will pick up in chapter 2 and be a little less choppy! Please leave comments and kudos if you enjoyed :)
> 
> xo,  
> J


End file.
